


Forgotten Things

by Pokytoad



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Depression, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Violence, Nightmares, Oneshot, Smoking, Soviet Union, some brotherly luv aww, this is angsty stuff sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28763058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pokytoad/pseuds/Pokytoad
Summary: An assortment of some of my more dark vignettes/drabbles/oneshots that have been collecting dust; All Lithuania-centric, warnings listed in tags and chapter previews.
Relationships: Belarus/Lithuania (Hetalia), Lithuania/Poland (Hetalia)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	1. What We Feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lithuania and Latvia have a late night chat on the back porch; mid-Soviet Era

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhh having radically accepted that I will never fully finish any of my baltic-centric fics I just decided to dump them in this soon-to-be-expanded-oneshot collection because I don't care anymore :P

“Can I try one?”

Latvia already knows the answer, but he figures it’s still worth a shot; the acrid smell of nicotine is so intoxicating, it’s always worth a shot.

Lithuania doesn’t even look up - absently picking at the calluses on his right palm.

“No.”

“Just one drag.”

“Raivis.”

When he _does_ look up it takes everything in Latvia not to wince. 

He knows Prussia and Lithuania had been fighting (the smears of blood on the kitchen floor had led him to the back porch after all) but he still doesn’t expect that much _mess_. His nose is crooked, and the swelling in his left eye makes him look lopsided. 

Lithuania seems to notice his reaction and smiles gently, but there’s too much blood on his teeth for it to be reassuring.   
  
"Yikes..."

“If you think the common sense got knocked out of me too, you’re wrong.”

“It won’t even do anything.”

“You’re immortal, not invincible.”

Latvia groans and flops down next to his brother on the weathered steps.

“Why are you such a _dad?”_

“They’re expensive and taste horrible, I don’t want you to throw up.” 

Irate, Latvia mimicks him, viciously mouthing out the same words he hears every time they have this argument.

Lithuania takes a long, sad drag, watching him out of the corner of his eye. 

“Prussia says _Belomorkanal_ are only 20 kopec.”

It’s risky to mention either name. Lithuania scoffs - he exhales through his nose and it reminds Latvia of a dragon.

“Where are you going to get 20 kopec?”

“Where do _you_ get 20 kopec?”

Latvia plucks the cigarette pack out of his brother’s lap. 

Surprisingly, Toris doesn’t protest - the lighter is probably in his pocket anyway. He just unfolds and re-flattens the flimsy little tube of cardboard in his hands.

There’s a map of the USSR on the box; Raivis runs a thumb over the borderless space that used to be their states. 

“Do you think we’ll disappear someday?”

He immediately regrets the question, but he can’t take his words back now - so he keeps going.

“I can’t feel the people anymore… its not, we’re not- ”

“I haven’t felt them either,” Toris’s voice comes out in a hoarse croak. “Not since I came back.”

Silence fills the rest of his statement.

He’d come back from an experience that he wouldn’t talk about for decades, and Latvia didn’t intend to pry.

Lithuania takes one last drag of his cigarette, pulling until the paper tube lights and he has to drop it in the dirt.

After a comfortable pause, Latvia feels Toris lean down and shoulder him a few times, coaxing out a grin and a halfhearted shove back. 

"You've made it through so much, Lati, You'll make it through this too."

 _"We'll_ make it through this." Latvia glares when he corrects him, doesn't even hide the frustration in his voice, and the smile falters – only for a moment.

"Of course."

"Now stop being so sappy, we need to get all that crud off your face."

"Is it that bad?"

Latvia rolls his eyes as he helps haul his brother up, pretending not to notice when his jaw clenches in pain. 

"You have no idea. Did you win at least?"

"I'm pretty sure we both lost."

"That makes more sense."

And for the first time in a long while, Lithuania laughs.


	2. Unwelcome Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, this drabble contains referenced/implied suicidal thoughts and acts, so please don't proceed if you find sensitive content upsetting <3 take care of yourself first, sweet reader!
> 
> To iron out any confusion, I had this idea long ago that Belarus can see spirits like Giltinė, the goddess of Death in Baltic mythology. She's the only one who can see Giltinė in this scene.

“Toris.”

Belarus glanced over at Lithuania, who was slouched in the passenger seat, face resting against the arm of the door.

“Toris, hey.”

She found Liet’s hand in the darkness and wove her fingers around his.

His face flashed in and out of view, illuminated only by the orange of passing streetlights, looking drawn and pale and wrong.

“Why is she here?”

His gaze shifted briefly.

“You can see her?”

“Yes.”

Lithuania sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“It’s not important.”

“Oh?”

Belarus released his hand and angled the rearview mirror until that pale white face met her eyes.

Giltinė had been sitting in the backseat since they’d left Natalya’s flat. Every so often her long, thin fingers would leave the edge of the passenger seat to smooth out her night black skirts, but otherwise she did nothing.

Only stared back at Belarus with a look that conveyed a silent knowing.

“I think she disagrees.”

Lithuania didn’t have anything to say to that.

“Look, you don’t have to tell me what you were planning, but I’m not leaving until she’s ready to go too.”

Belarus took up his hand again and turned her focus back to driving, kissing his fingers gently.

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

It took everything in her not to scoff out loud at his quiet assertion; the last time she had seen Giltinė, the goddess had been sitting on the bathroom sink with an array of empty pill boxes in her lap, pointing at the bathtub and betraying the hiding place of the man she safeguarded so dearly. Belarus had managed to snatch the bottle of bourbon out of his hands – hoping he couldn't bury himself any deeper in his drug-heavy stupor.

It hadn't worked.

Natalya brushed the thoughts aside as she turned off the main road. Driveway gravel crunched under the tires.

Then she parked, turned the key, and the engine’s idle was replaced with the quiet night sounds of summer.

“I worry about you because I love you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I _do,_ and you can’t stop me. Now let’s get you inside.”

Giltinė followed them of course, up the porch steps of his creaky cabin, right through the slats of the siding.

Belarus rolled her eyes, fishing around in her purse for the spare house key. _Showoff_.

She kept an eye on the goddess – who in turn kept an eye on Lithuania from her perch on top of the living room stove – while she heated up a pan of milk in the kitchen.

“Don’t sneak any kisses over there.”

Two steaming mugs of spiced milk for Toris and herself, one tall glass of cabernet sauvignon for Giltinė, which she left within her reach on the mantle. 

“I’m sorry I invited her.”

“Don’t be. She’s unwelcome but polite company.”

Belarus nestled herself into his nest of blankets on the couch and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. 

Lithuania leaned back against her and smiled for the first time that night, his voice just a quiet mumble.

“I think EuroBasket is airing.”

“EuroBasket it is,” Natalya reached over and handed him the clicker, much more interested in watching him than the television.

Less than an hour later he was already beginning to nod off (impressive, considering basketball was on).

And when Belarus turned to check on the silent goddess in the corner, there was only an empty wineglass on the stovetop. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (not to complain but it took me almost 4 hours to recover this bastard fic in my laptop's sewer of a data log, so I hope my toils were worth it???)


	3. Spaces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lithuania suffers from sleep paralysis, Poland is there to keep him safe; mid-Soviet era.

It always began as a stain.

A small black stain on the wall opposite where Toris was situated for the night - just above the mantle of the parlor fireplace.

Then the stain would spread, like a sick, blossoming flower, its vines creeping across the wallpaper until the entire wall was a gaping, mad hole.

Toris couldn't breathe, let alone call out for help.

Poland always slept on the cot next to him, so he would try to close his eyes and focus on his friend's soft snores until the pressure left his chest. 

It never worked.

He opened his eyes again - watching as negative and positive space separated until a pale, white face formed where the black stain had originally bloomed.

 _Giltinė_.

His goddess, once comforting and still in her deathly composure, now locked gazes with him and stared. Her eyes were empty, and something about her was always decidedly wrong. And Toris knew this, because the goddess of death had always been a maternal comfort to him in his worst times - her most frequent visits had been less than a fortnight ago, when he was still facing the walls of a cell instead of Russia's parlor.

He resolved to himself that this couldn't be Giltinė. Even her smell was different, carrying notes not of dying flora and something metallic - like a cold autumn dawn - but of dying fauna, sick and fleshy and nauseating.

And then, as Toris contemplated her strange and jarring figure, she would launch from the wall, barrelling towards him as if she were an animal possessed - screeching and howling until her gaping mouth was far too near to his.

He would close his eyes, screwing them tightly shut and refusing to move even if he could by then.

The sound stole away what little breath Toris could pull in and out of his lungs; Giltinė was a silent goddess and the screams were too deafening to ever come from her lips, yet the cold breath buffeting over his face always told Toris otherwise.

Then a cold hand would grab his arm and a gentle voice would pierce the terrible wails and Toris would start into movement, snapping his eyes open to the sight of Feliks' gaunt, living face.

It was always then that he would try to bolt upright and barbs of searing pain would jolt from his legs to the front of his skull and he would remember the cause of his immobility.

Hands pressing to his hot cheeks, still cool, before an even colder wet cloth is laid on his aching forehead.

"Shhh, shh Liet. You're alright."

Toris would try to calm his frenetic, leaping heart but it would never work. His breathing would gain a sudden, labored intensity as his lungs realized they were no longer restricted and that was when his gasps for fresh air would give way to horrid, thin, panicked sounds.

It was routine, the way Poland took him up in his arms and combed through his hair and wrapped himself around him until all he could feel was warmth, all he could smell was Poland's soft, human smell - sleep and cheap Soviet soap still clinging to his sweater.

All he could hear through the dull ringing in his ears - still reeling from the apparition's cries - were soft words of comfort.

His eyes would drift to the wall that once held his black, horrid dream goddess captive and all he would see was cool, blue dawn light giving form to the striped wallpaper.

"She's gone now, Liet."

  
"She'll be back."

And Poland would say nothing, because she would always return and nothing they could do would stop her visits.


End file.
